


The Greatest Obsession

by Creator_Of_Immortals



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1880s, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Tragedy, Bisexual Male Character, Boys In Love, Character Death, Child Loss, F/M, Father Figures, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Grief/Mourning, Human/Vampire Relationship, Love Triangles, M/M, Original Character(s), Religious Conflict, Smut, Some Humor, Tragic Romance, Vampires, Victorian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:49:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26933899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creator_Of_Immortals/pseuds/Creator_Of_Immortals
Summary: Follows the engagement of one Elijah Marks to Irina Snow, in the summer through autumn of 1885, London.A chance meeting between two men becomes a daring, secretive, and vampiric friendship turned love affair that spirals Elijah's engagement and his own mind out of control. The part of himself he so desperately wished to block is brought out by the adoring and eccentric Haydn, and Elijah has not the heart to let Irina go, even if he knows his fiancee does not deserve a man like him.A cautionary tale about the dangers of lying and not being true to yourself. That sometimes you can do nothing but fall into the abyss and wish things had been different. That the damage has already been done. That love is the world's most beautiful sin.
Relationships: Elijah Marks (OC)/Haydn Sangster (OC), Elijah Marks (OC)/Irina Snow (OC)
Kudos: 1





	1. A Father's Blessing

Of all the times Elijah Marks had been in the Snows' parlor, he'd never noticed the black marble figurine of an English Mastiff on the mantel. What with the usually dim lighting, the concentration of playing the piano behind him, or simply never being alone, it had gone unseen. 

Gently, Elijah plucked it from its spot, pleased with the warmth of it. Whoever had made the handsome dog even went to the trouble of crafting the outline of a phallic piece, mostly obscured from view as the dog sat proudly with his head held high. He turned the dog this way and that and his fingers danced over his sculpted fur ridges. 

Upon hearing muffled steps on the staircase, Elijah set the dog back on the mantel and scratched his smooth head. "Good boy," he whispered.

"I see you've discovered Bruce." 

“Who was he?" Elijah glanced back.

"The family dog before my wife and I had children." 

“May the good lad rest in peace," Elijah said. He turned around. "How are you, Abraham?" 

Elijah took him warmly by the hand. Such reciprocation from the gentleman of sixty-three years eased whatever upset Elijah may have had at his arrival to the house. 

"I'm well. Thank you, my boy." 

“I've not seen you for over a month now. You weren't at church this morning, either." Elijah flexed his fingers as Abraham released him. "At the winery, I suppose? Free of robbers?"

"If I'm not home, where am I?" Abraham smiled. 

"I should hope there's a church nearby." 

Abraham chuckled and clapped the young man's shoulder. "I didn't forget. I found a church in Canterbury." He gestured Elijah towards a pale green and mucus yellow couch. It was the only long couch on the first floor, something Elijah hated as he found it hideous. “Take a seat. I know you've been meaning to speak with me." 

In silence, Elijah descended. Abraham took the maroon armchair beside him.

The light solid tan coat Elijah wore slid down his arms. “Where is Irina?” 

“Out with her brother and his wife.”

“Charles! He lives in Paris, yes? You know I've yet to meet him.”

Abraham nodded. “You should stay for dinner, then. He's coming back to the house, I'm sure.” 

“I'd love to, but I've got an appointment with a tailor to resize some of my father's old waistcoats. He always told me that everything he owned would be left to me. I never thought the clothes would be one of them.” Elijah smiled and a soft laugh drifted from his lips at the thought of his father. 

“I heard nothing but good things about your father, it's a shame I never got the chance to meet him or your mother.” 

“At least Mother met Irina before she passed.” Elijah paused, his thumbs twiddling above his lap. “They dreamed about my wedding. Especially Mother, she pranced around teaching me to waltz and told me how she'd coddle my bride to death.” 

Abraham gave him a squint. His naturally arched brow rose as Elijah beamed like a child caught in a game of hide-and-seek. “What are you hinting at, Mr. Marks?”

“Only that I want to marry your daughter.” 

Abraham leaned forward. “Tell me more.” 

“I love her, Abraham. I mean it. Four years of courtship has given me much to know and respect her. She builds me up to my highest potential. She gives me what no other woman has and that is hope and determination. What is a man without a woman to raise him up? I strive to be the best I can be for Irina, and you know that. You've seen the progression with your own eyes!”

"Yes," agreed Abraham. "You were a rather meek boy of nineteen when you first came to this house. I hope you take no offense in my saying so, but I was uncertain you'd have the strength to match Irina's quick nature. I'm glad I was wrong." 

Elijah felt an odd sting with the words, even if they rang true. He cleared his throat. "What do you say?" 

"What do I say? No, what does Irina say?" Abraham asked. 

"Hopefully, yes," Elijah said, folding his hands over his thighs and flexing his elbows to escape the clinging dampness of his clothes. "She's your daughter, Abraham, do you think she'll say yes?"

"Irina is much like me, and I know that I would be saying yes. If she does I'd like to ask something of you." 

Elijah reached for a scone on the table between them. He leaned back, letting his one arm flex onto the back of the couch and crossing one leg over the other. "Goodness, I love Margaret's cooking. Shoot your question at me, the likelihood is that I shouldn't refuse." 

"You love Margaret's cooking? Stay with us and you'll have it for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and supper."

Elijah paused, scone extended towards his open mouth. He sat the biscuit in his lap and blinked rapidly, pushing a lock of loose brown hair behind his ear. "Stay here? Whatever for?" 

Abraham rested his elbows on his knees. "Are you opposed?"

"No, it just comes as a surprise." 

"It's a tradition. It stems from the legend that many generations before, a poor man made his way into my ancestor's heart and allowed him lodging where he was taught and bred to be a successful man eligible enough to marry his daughter. Every man that marries into this family has lived with us ever since." 

"What shall I do with my father's townhome in Chelsea?" 

"You own the home, now. Rent it to others! It's yours to do whatever you please." Abraham saw Elijah lick his lips. He glanced at the old man, who looked at him with an eager, hopeful expression. "Listen to me, my boy. She's saying yes. I wouldn't have granted you my blessing if I doubted her answer. I will help you with any services regarding the townhome, I promise you." 

Elijah sighed. He sat up, quickening his legs with a preparatory rub of the thighs. He grinned and reached out to Abraham. "As long as I have your support and your blessing, consider it a deal." 

…

London's twilight proved rather beautiful this late June. Elijah sauntered through its streets, a lovely lilac-blue waistcoat wrapped around his forearm. It was pinstriped and mixed with real gold infused fabric. He ran his fingers over it. I should wear this come my walk down the aisle. Father would be pleased, he thought, trying not to let his eyes well in public. 

He'd been so preoccupied, he'd not noticed the gang of young delinquents rushing into him. He fell to the ground, his head smacking the pavement with a thud. "Watch it, flapdoodle!" 

"You're the bloody flapdoodles, you mangy wankers!" Elijah yelled back.

A man and his accompanying woman heaved Elijah from the ground. The man touched his face and prodded him for injury while the woman brushed his clothes, both too kind for words. 

"You have a cut on your head, sir." 

"I'll be alright, thank you. I'll have a maid tend to it as soon as I am home."

"Are you far?" the woman asked, her dark eyes concerned. 

"No, madam, only a block or two away."

Not long after, the three went their separate ways. Elijah watched them go.

"Is this yours?" 

Elijah spun to find his short, black velvet hat in the possession of a man maybe five years his senior. He was a pale man with tawny hair that blew in the warm breeze and blue eyes most bright and unnaturally alluring. Elijah let his eyes roam the man's face for any form of trickery or deceit, but all he found was a calm face wearing a soft smile. Funnily enough, while presenting the youth with his hat, he wore none himself. "Yes. Where did you find it?"

"It rolled into the street as I was passing. I'd just seen that sir and madam fixing you up, so I assumed you must have lost this. What happened?" 

"Just some young rebels enjoying a summer night causing harm to others."

The dripping sarcasm in Elijah's voice made the man's smile widen, "What's new?" 

The man came towards Elijah, his body almost pressed onto his. Elijah furrowed his brows as his hat was placed back onto his head. "Oh," he mouthed, fluttering his eyes and thinking the gesture a tad odd. "Thank y--" 

A small gasp escaped the man. He pulled away, his eyes trained on his fingers. "You're bleeding," he said. 

"It's only a small cut. I'll be fine," Elijah reassured him.

"Are you certain? I'm sorry, sir, it just gave me a bit of a fright."

Elijah put his hands in front of him. "Please, you have no need to be alarmed. I live only a few blocks down." He stared at the deep red that coated the man's fingers and bit his lip. "Might I offer you a handkerchief?" 

"No," the man said. Elijah cocked his head. "I have my own right here!" he exclaimed, pulling out a plain white handkerchief and dabbing his fingers with it. 

Elijah nodded. "Well, I better start the journey homeward. I should have been back by now." 

The man stared at the small wet spots on the fabric and muttered, without meeting Elijah's gaze, "Yes. Safe travels. Have a good night and a good morrow." 

The perturbed brown-haired man left him there with a gentle, "You as well." He began the rest of his walk but turned back at the feel of eyes on him. 

The man had not moved from his spot and his blue eyes narrowed to peer at Elijah from a distance. Elijah paused and did the same. With neither letting up, he decided to continue on. Not a few steps later, he turned back again, and nothing had changed. 

The third time Elijah Marks looked behind his shoulder, he caught a sight that nearly froze his blood. The man still looked at him, but his fingers were pressed to his lips. He kissed and nipped the drying blood on them. He only looked away as he closed his eyes and brought the stained handkerchief to his nose, taking in the scent of Elijah's blood with euphoria. 

Needless to say, Elijah broke into a sprint and turned on the first corner he saw.


	2. The Proposal & The Party

Irina Snow, according to Elijah Marks, was a godsend. A pretty red-haired girl of twenty-one, with shining hazel-green eyes that drank up all color in the room, whose button nose and plump pink lips were the epitome of innocence, she radiated a rare sense of goodness. Goodness mixed with the smallest bit of mischief and a clever, insightful mind. 

Elijah believed her to be the perfect woman. Of course, he knew deep down no such person existed, because it wasn't possible, but Irina was the closest thing. She kept him in line, made sure he had eaten, enjoyed musing his hair, letting him know when he needed to see the barber for split ends, and loved nothing more than to sit by him and hold his hand. 

They sat on a canopied swing in the center of a large maze, that intimidated newcomers in the mansion's back lawn, on a cloudy afternoon two days after Elijah asked for Abraham's blessing. Irina held his hand, a book of myths and legends in her lap, her eyes focused on the pages. Elijah noticed the fog that formed on her reading spectacles, and it made him wonder what she was reading about. Glancing down at the page, it was only a passage from The Iliad, a poetic description of Achilles running around the Wall of Troy hunting down Paris. 

"Why are your glasses fogging?" Elijah asked, tilting her glasses with his finger. 

"My heart is racing. I know you've read this. Don't tell me what happens," she commanded with a smile, adjusting her glasses. 

Achilles kills him, Elijah thought. "Shall I delay the outcome and engage you in an important conversation?" 

Irina lifted her head. "Is something the matter?" 

"Oh, nothing too pressing or urgent. It's not even something that's wrong. It's just. . ." He turned away and bowed his head, letting his thumb rub the back of her hand. 

"It's just what, darling?" she inquired, closing the book. 

"Well, you see, it's just that you aren't my wife and I think something should be done about that." 

A very deep blush rose from Irina's neck and advanced into her cheeks only to halt at the tips of her ears, turning them magenta. Her lips dried before his eyes, and she instinctively sought to rectify this issue. Her back straightened, her breath seemed to quicken. Elijah smiled at her, thinking her antics adorable. "W-what do you think should be done about it?" 

Elijah let out a chortle, followed by him slowly descending from the swing. While doing this, he said, "Well, first, it means getting permission from Abraham, something I acquired two days ago. Second, it requires a ring that I secured three months before while mustering the will to go to your father. Third, it needs an answer to a very important question." 

By this point, Elijah was in front of her, on one knee grasping her hands. Irina's glasses had fogged again. He pulled them away from her face with ease. At this, she tittered and spilled the tears she'd been hiding behind them. There was an unspoken nervousness in them both, with Elijah doing a better job of hiding it. Irina swallowed. "Then ask me." 

"Yes, Madam." Elijah reached into his waistcoat pocket for a gold banded ring with intricate swirls, and a little hilt that encased a diamond chip. Beneath it, was a blue topaz, the birthstone of December. Irina only glanced at it, taking a deep breath before Elijah spoke again. "Will you marry me, Irina?" 

She swiped her tear-stained face, but it did very little to stop the silent flow and running of her red nose. "Oh, it only took you four years!" 

"Is that a yes?" 

"Yes!" 

Elijah hadn't even put the ring on her finger and she'd grabbed his face to kiss him. They laughed against each other. All he could do was grab onto her waist and pull her from the swing and into his arms. 

. . .

"Goodness, it's hot," Elijah heard a man say as he walked past. 

He couldn't agree more. The mansion was overcrowded on a hot summer's night, the last night of June to be exact. Men and women drank, laughed, and grew easily irritated by the sticky intimate quarters they were forced to endure. Hardly any woman was without a fan, fluttering it like mad. Elijah dodged the manual butterflies like a young knight in search of the princess. Odd monster battling aside, he felt particularly joyous. 

His princess spotted him, first, her golden gloved hand waving him towards the dining room. 

Elijah found it was less crowded in there. The guests lounged by the open French doors, chatting and nibbling on party foods. "There you are! What took you so long?" Irina said, rushing up to him and pecking the corner of his mouth. 

"Have you seen the foyer and the parlor? It's more crowded than Heaven and there are still more guests arriving." He mimicked his fiancee, letting his lips brush her lightly rouged cheek. "There is a line of carriages making their way up and down the street. I was stuck in traffic." He laughed then. 

"Well, I'm glad you made it at a decent hour. Charles is here with Gillian. Father's waiting for you. He was more impatient than I was." 

"If you upset the King, all Hell breaks loose." 

Irina chuckled at that. Abraham Snow was very much king of the castle. She grabbed Elijah's hand, pulling him along to the backyard where things seemed far more lively than indoors. Guests ran in and out of the maze. They danced to a diverse but small orchestra. Dizzying skirts mingled which distracted the viewers.

Like a bright light Abraham shined in a tailored black suit, his white hair slicked back. With him was a man who appeared eerily similar, but with hair strawberry blond and a good thirty years younger. 

"Where is Gillian?" Irina called out. 

"She found one of her old girlfriends and left me with the old man." Replied the other, shaking his head and glancing at Abraham wryly. 

Abraham lifted a playful brow and said, "I won't be old until I'm in the ground, son." 

"Is this who I think it is?" Elijah asked, his hand already open for a shake. 

"If you're thinking Charles Snow then you'd be correct." The eldest of the Snow children had a very firm grip. Elijah took note of this and added just the slightest more pressure, to assert a good ranking should Charles have been the alpha type. "So you're the doe-eyed devil who swept my sister off of her feet?" 

Elijah's smile widened. He already knew he liked him. The feeling was mutual, he could tell. "Yes, sir." 

"When's the ceremony?" 

"September," Abraham piped in. "Late September."

"Why so long a wait?" Charles asked his father. 

"Why not?" Irina and Elijah both said. They turned to each other making rather sly faces and giggling softly. 

"Is he continuing the tradition?" 

"My stay begins on the 1st," Elijah answered. 

"Gillian and I will be leaving the 4th. Shall we have another get-together before then, to celebrate?" 

The foursome planned a dinner at Simpson's for the 3rd, a quaint goodbye and family meal. Elijah figured it would be a nice way to meet Gillian as he began to think tonight wouldn't be the night to meet her. As what happened to Gillian happened to Irina. A friend appeared from out of the blue, a gold-wearing hook-nosed woman named Maggie, to steal his fiancee's attention. She departed giving each man their own kiss, Elijah getting the longest. 

Charles left for his wife and Abraham traveled to the parlor to greet friends of his own. Alone, Elijah stood in his spot for a while. His eyes drank up the dancers. His ears drowned in the sound of a violin. He adored the entire scenic view, like something out of a fairytale with all of the lanterns hanging from the trees, the wine, the warm air every so often cooled by a misty breeze, the colors, and the music. 

Elijah pushed into the crowd, to which many dancers offered their congratulations in passing, to find a seat closer to the music. As he came to the other side, he noticed he wouldn't be sitting by himself. He supposed he wouldn't have minded the company. 

The iron chair screeched and scraped the cobblestone under Elijah's feet. He sat, with his hands on top of the warm table which was also made of iron. He turned to his auditory seduced companion and turned pale with widening eyes. 

It's that man! he thought. 

He sat opposite him, leaned back, with one hand limp in his lap, the other resting on the arm of the chair bent at the elbow. His ungloved nails clicked together and his eyes were closed. His brows furrowed in deep concentration. Elijah noticed a flush in his cheeks amidst his pale skin. He must have sensed Elijah's pressing gaze, for he opened his eyes and blinked away a bit of red wetness in them. Had the man not already gave Elijah a fright, that surely would have. 

"Oh," he exclaimed, smiling politely. "Hello again. How is your head?" 

Elijah said nothing, only glared at him. 

"Are you well?" 

"What are you doing here?" 

The man looked confused by Elijah's tone. "I-I came with a friend. It's a lovely party." 

"You weren't invited and I think it's best you leave." 

"Half of the people here weren't invited. I don't like your tone, sir. What have I done to warrant this?" 

Elijah leaned close, checking to see if anyone was listening. "I watched you stalk my leave and lick your bloody fingers, my blood to remind you, like you just finished devouring a melting chocolate bar! You think I want you here?" 

The man sneered and looked visibly repulsed. "I don't know what you're talking about. That's disgusting. Look, you'd just suffered a blow to the head and you were bleeding, you could have imagined the whole thing." 

"Don't you dare to try to play that game with me," Elijah said. "I don't know how you knew where to find me nor do I care to find out, but you are not welcome here." 

"Are you lord of this house?" 

"No, but I am rather close to him. Watch yourself." 

"So you are the Elijah Marks I've been hearing about all night. Hmph." He stood from his chair. He sauntered over to Elijah and leaned to eye-level. "Congratulations on your engagement. You tasted wonderful, by the way. Until next time." 

Elijah gasped at the feel of teeth gently touching his earlobe. His hand sought the unbroken skin, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. The man was already lost in the sea of dancers, but Elijah could still hear him laughing.


	3. Hello & Goodbye

On the morning of July 3rd, Elijah woke in the same bed for the second time. His groggy eyes took in the scene of a dewy window and heard the gentle tap of pine infested branches against it. He startled himself, still unfamiliar with his new quarters. 

_ Three windows to my left. An old vanity turned writing desk at the foot of my bed. A vanity in the corner to the right of me. .and all of my belongings are in here. _

He repeated the mantra each morning, reminding himself that this was his new home. Elijah rubbed his eyes and grabbed his pocket watch off the nightstand. It read seven-thirty. He took a deep breath, sending signals to his brain to catch up with his body. Breakfast wouldn't be served until ten, but he wasn't against bothering the housekeeper Margaret, to have the cook fetch him toasted and buttered rye. 

He did just that, meandering his way in silence throughout the house for the elderly woman, who he found in the parlor. He asked her kindly for the toast and a glass of milk to which she happily obliged.

Elijah told her to send it to the garden in the center of the maze and was off. Once he tread past the cobblestone, he slipped off his slippers and exhaled when the wet grass still cool from the overnight rain touched his feet. He lounged on the swing until his food arrived. Elijah listened for the birds chirping, the trees swaying, and felt his heart thumping. 

The peaceful dream-like environment broke when a hand pressed and traveled up his chest and tickled his throat. Elijah lurched, eyes bulging from their sockets. Silence. Nothing. Perhaps he'd imagined it. He turned to look at the entrance of the maze only to find Irina peeking around the corner, giggling at him in a satin gown, red hair flowing. 

It couldn't have been her. She was much too far away to be the one who'd left so quickly. Nevertheless, Elijah suppressed the confusing thoughts to beckon his lady-love towards him for an early morning rendezvous. 

. . .

Elijah made a horrible decision to challenge Charles to chess. Whoever won the most of three rounds, or, won the final round, would make the loser pay for dinner. The men sat across from each other with Irina eagerly wanting to strategize her fiance's next move, but he told her not too as it would be close enough to cheating. Gillian, strangely also a red-haired girl with eyes too close in color to her sister-in-law for it not to be questioned, was not as eager. She had a calmness to her, an intricate woman whose thoughts seemed to be on anything but the game. 

Abraham monitored each move at the head of the table, impatiently glancing around the room waiting for their meals. Simpson's was a packed establishment, after all, there were many people to serve. 

At long last, Charles' knight slashed through the heart of Elijah's king. 

Elijah bowed his head in defeat. "I suppose dinner is on me," he said, mustering a forced grin to a chuckling Charles. 

"Better luck next time, my good man." 

He reached across the table to shake Elijah's hand. There was a snarky, victorious gleam in the Snow heir's eye, but Elijah couldn't be upset--he lost fair and square. "I'll be a chess extraordinaire by our next match, just you wait, Charles." 

The table seemed to hum with laughter, then. Elijah glanced at an alert Abraham, whose blue eyes were focused on something in the distance. "Ah, here comes the meal! Everyone, help put the board away. I'm starving and we've yet to say grace." 

With the table cleared and the meals steaming in their faces, the family of five held hands and muttered a soft incantation under their breaths. 

"And we pray," Gillian spoke up, "for Elijah and Irina's happy union." 

"That we do!" Irina cheered. 

Elijah snickered, earning a raised brow from Abraham. Laughing during grace was no laughing matter. "Amen," the old lord finished.

"Amen!" 

They all but attacked their food like vultures swarming to dead prey. Yet, as Elijah forked another piece of salmon into his mouth, he felt the urge to look up from his meal. Gillian moved her head to whisper something to her husband, to which Elijah found the source of his intuitive senses.

Not even a few tables away, he caught the eye of the mysterious man from the street and the party, the man whom Elijah was certain sensuously dragged his hand on his body that morning. He sat alone with a book, a small untouched meal, and a cup of coffee that wasn't piping hot or appeared to have been drunk from. He pretended not to notice Elijah's awareness, his stark eyes looming over the text of his novel. 

Elijah curled his lip in disgust. "Is something the matter, Elijah?" Gillian asked. 

As she asked that question, the man smiled, knowing Elijah would be forced to acknowledge her. "Oh, it's nothing, dear Gillian, just an over-salted bite of the salmon." 

"No, it's that man over there," Abraham whispered, leaning closer to the group. "I didn't think it my place to address it, but he's been watching you since he arrived. Do you know him?" 

Elijah glanced over Gillian's shoulder to find the man frowning. He could still hear them. "Hardly. Just a strange chap I've had a few queer run-ins with." 

"Queer, indeed," Charles, commented, looking back. "I see no gloves or a hat at his table. What upper-class fool would dare travel without them?"

. . .

Charles and Gillian took the evening train to France. The two were not left without an extensive and heartfelt display of embraces and kisses. They promised to be back sometime in early August and planned to extend their stay, with the possible intention of moving back to England to be closer to the family. 

Elijah kept an eye on the streets as the carriage took him and the father-daughter duo home, scouting out the tawny-haired beauty of terror. Elijah hated, especially, that the man carried a seductive quality and believed it inhuman. 

He never saw the man. Part of him wished he had. The fascination for his stalker, Elijah knew, had to be kept hidden. He didn't hate him. He hated things about him. Did he hate his beauty, his charm, his wit, and his performance? Yes, because it was all too good. Did he hate him as a whole? No. 

Elijah sighed, turning away from the window as they pulled up to the house. 

"What is it?" Irina asked. 

"That man," he muttered. 

"Don't let him get to you, Elijah," Abraham said as he exited the carriage. "Strange birds like that get incarcerated sooner or later, and long before he'd see you again." 

Elijah shrugged, for once not placing much weight into Abraham's words. 

Irina grabbed his face and smothered him in kisses. "I'll protect you, darling." 

Elijah guffawed and nuzzled her hair with his nose. "What a lucky man I am to have such a beautiful knight in shining armor." 

The family sat for a late supper, close to nine at night, munching on cakes and sipping wine like the spoiled people they dared not project onto the world. A delicacy such as theirs would only be in late night talks, and piles of treats to satisfy whatever suppressed superiority they felt. 

Drunk and full, Elijah stumbled up the stairs to his room, refusing help from the servants. He shut the door and felt a chill. He turned around to find an open window, the one furthest from his bed. He rubbed his head. Whilst trying to sing himself out of nausea, Elijah shut his window and undressed. He didn't bother with a nightgown. He struggled to even undo the clothes he had on. To put on a different set was too much work. 

He curled up in cool blankets, asleep in under three minutes. 


End file.
